Journey to The Centre of The Earth

“Do we move forward like civilised beings, or do we turn back like cowards?” asks Professor Lidenbrook, his tone dripping with English pomp. As I watch a squall curling around the peaks ahead, I ponder his words. Iceland’s notorious weather is about to unleash its fury, so, like Lidenbrook, we face a crucial decision.

Recalling a line from an old movie may not be the best way to make choices that could dictate whether we return in time for a post-ride beer, but just like Lidenbrook’s defining moment in the 1977 adaptation of Jules Verne’s classic novel, Journey to the Centre of the Earth, we are confronting challenges in true Icelandic style. Admittedly, we are riding bikes across a rugged volcanic landscape rather than navigating an underground labyrinth haunted by noxious gases and hungry dinosaurs. Yet, one glance at the primordial terrain surrounding us leaves me with the nagging feeling that prehistoric beasts might lumber out from behind a rock at any moment. Iceland has a way of igniting the imagination—likely the reason why Verne’s tale, filled with long-lost monsters and giant fungi, feels so fantastical.

We press on, driven more by our determination to complete the twelve-kilometer trail loop than by any misguided notions of ‘civilisation’ or ‘cowardice.’ After all, if the old adage holds true, there is no such thing as bad weather—only inappropriate clothing. Hashtag: jackets on and ride onwards. The approaching squall is hardly surprising; positioned between two notoriously stormy seas, we knew that riding in Iceland would come with meteorological challenges—even in June. However, my fellow Shimano ambassador, Andrew Neethling, and I also recognised that this rugged, colourful, and unspoiled landscape would yield its own rewards—if we were willing, as Professor Lidenbrook advised, to ‘move forward like civilised creatures’ when the weather turns.

The trail opens into an amphitheater of breathtaking beauty—these views alone reward our persistence, even without the promise of a long, sinuous descent ahead. This story unfolds across each day of our rides: the weather shifts dramatically, while every turn in the trail reveals yet another vast, untamed volcanic plateau or leads us into a challenging pump track that rolls over jagged lava outcrops spewed from the Earth’s depths centuries, or perhaps merely months, ago. The riding, the landscapes, and the mere act of existing here—it all feels profoundly humbling.

You cannot visit Iceland without experiencing humility; it is perhaps the country’s greatest lesson, and yet it comes paired with inspiration. For three days, we traverse Iceland’s flowing singletrack amidst some of its most breathtaking scenery. We marvel at tumbling glaciers and skirt deep ravines carved through rock by relentless forces, as effortlessly as a hot knife through butter. We battle headwinds and shoulder our bikes beneath clear blue skies. When we finally depart, we vow to return. Like Jules Verne, we know we have only scratched the surface; dig a little deeper, and who knows what wonders await discovery.